I’m craving something right now but I don’t know exactly what, it’s like a deep urge to take/do something that’s going to fill this gnawing void in the back of my throat. I’m buzzing with those eager anticipatory fight or flight butterflies, not the sex craving ones, not the fearful anxiety type ones either, these are different but I suppose even though they are emotionally worlds apart, physically they feel pretty much the same.
I don’t know why I feel this way, absolutely nothing is going on and yet adrenaline surges through my body urging me to take the deepest breath I have ever taken and hold it until I feel my lungs are going to burst orgasmically right out of my chest.
Hypomania I guess.
I did get 3hrs sleep in the end last night, so that’s good but everything is still louder and brighter, really vibrantly beautiful, but busy, not serene.
Right now we have visitors, old neighbours that have become family friends – currently they are out in the shed talking manly talk with the hubby, I’m trying to be the good little country housewife and prepare lunch but instead I am here writing this.
I am outwardly silent but my mind is screaming with a million thoughts all bursting to get out at once and I’m getting irritated by all the little noises.
Talking, tv, the washing machine, clock ticking, the Pitch perfect 3 version of Brittany Spears’ Toxic repeating for no good reason in my head and the bloody dogs barking.
I love my dogs completely but they keep barking at our visitors so they’re locked up in their dog run for now, “woof, yap, woof, fucking woof” it’s grating on me, fuck I know it’s been a while since these people were here but guys, they are FRIENDS not burglars and I told you to shut the fuck up so shut the fuck up already!!
Tick, talk, “ 🎶 toxic 🎶” whirr, Simpsons theme music… maybe I should go to the meter box and pull out the fuse?
I’m going to put in headphones and listen to that bloody song all the way through, maybe it will get the endless loop out of my brain. And make lunch, I’m supposed to make lunch.
The titillations, tribulations, vicissitudes, and oxymoronic cogitations of a very lucky and unfortunate Neuroscientist with Bipolar Disorder
It was almost funny.
Torn. Broken. Writer. “For me, writing is an art of converting feelings to words.”
Read between the lines
The ups and downs of my recovery
On Being Creative, A Mother & Bipolar
Stationery Enthusiast & Mental Wellness Advocate
Speaking Out on the Unspeakable
Creative Writing. Book Reviews. Adult Humour.
NOT ALL WHO SUFFER ARE STRONG
Shattering the Magic Mirror